


Couch

by BloodStainsBlue



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Universe, And this time I didn't feel like it, Angst, I'll write a specific universe and timeline when I feel like it, M/M, Smut, The rise and fall of Stony, Unhappy Ending, because what is continuity?, i guess?, kind of a five times fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 11:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodStainsBlue/pseuds/BloodStainsBlue
Summary: "The couch has just been deep-cleaned to remove the blood-stains, and in the back of Steve’s mind he thinks that this particular piece of furniture ought to be spared this further abuse, but then Tony grinds down against him, and oh, this is much more important."Or, alternatively, five Stony moments that take place on the couch in the living room of Avenger's Tower.





	

**1.**

            Steve doesn’t quite remember who’s idea the Avenger movie night is, but he thinks it’s a good idea. Everyone on the team needs to get along, and practice isn’t always the best place for friendships to be formed.

            Tony’s excited about the idea just because he’s always the first one to remind Steve of everything he’s missed while he’s asleep. It gives him a good chance to remind Steve of just how much catching up there is to do.

            They were going to watch Snow White, until Steve reminded them that he’d already seen Snow White. Thor hadn’t, but Tony said this movie was for Steve, and put on Cinderella.

            It probably would have looked strange to anyone who was to walk in—six fully-grown warriors crammed into a living room watching a children’s movie: a scientist sitting on the floor, two super-spies cuddled up onto a chair, and a super-soldier smushed between a god and a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist on a too small couch, but Steve didn’t care.

            There was a green bowl of popcorn on his lap that Thor was taking liberal handfuls from. Steve didn’t touch the snack food, too entranced by the movie. The animation was more fluid than anything he could have ever imagined back in the thirties—it made his hand itch to grab a pencil, to try and sketch the pumpkin carriage or the beautiful dress. Never mind the way he understood Cinderella, saw himself in her transformation, even as Natasha grilled Thor on how realistic the magic in the movie was.

            He feels Tony’s eyes boring into his side while Cinderella and the prince twirl together in the ballroom, can hear him singing “So This is Love” under his breath, doesn’t comment when he feels Tony’s fingers dancing against the outside of his thigh, but he clutches the popcorn bowl a little tighter.

**2.**

            The white couch in the living room groans along with Steve, his hand gripping his side tightly. “Tony, what are you doing?” he asks, weakly tries to bat his hands away while he fiddles with his uniform.

            “Something’s going on with SHIELD’s doctors… you’re not going to see them. I’m taking care of you,” Tony says, and there’s a command in his voice that Steve has never heard before, and so he stops fighting back.

            There’s a deep stab wound in his side, and Tony almost looks like he’s going to throw up when he first sees it—it’s still bleeding, some of it falling onto the couch, forming a faint splotch on the expensive fabric. “It needs—”

            “It doesn’t need stitches,” Steve interrupts, and when Tony opens his mouth to object, he quickly responds with, “Metabolism. It’ll close up before we’re even done putting them in.”

            Tony _knows_ this, there’s no way he doesn’t, because he’s read all of the files on every member of the Avengers, memorized every detail. His face is white and he can’t take his eyes off of Steve’s wound, _too close, almost hit his liver—_

            “Get a cloth,” Steve whispers, places his hand on Tony’s shoulder and shakes him gently.

            Tony leaves and comes back with a white cloth, it looks like a table cloth, folded up. He sits back down next to Steve and looks from the cloth to his wound, unsure of what to do with it.

            Steve takes Tony’s hand and guides it to the wound, presses Tony’s hand over his wound. “We’ll hold it there until it heals—slow down the bleeding, too.”

            Tony nods and brings his head forward, rests it on Steve’s shoulder and breathes in deeply. “Fucking idiot… don’t try to take hits for me. You don’t have the armor,” he whispers, and Steve just nods.

  **3.**          

            Tony’s confident that everyone else is out of the building or too busy with their own lives to come into the living room at this time, and he _really_ can’t wait anymore.

            To his credit, Steve seems just as eager, falling back onto the couch and pulling Tony on top of him eagerly, his hands planted firmly on the other man’s small hips.

            The couch has just been deep-cleaned to remove the blood-stains, and in the back of Steve’s mind he thinks that this particular piece of furniture ought to be spared this further abuse, but then Tony grinds down against him, and _oh_ , this is _much_ more important.

            He’s never done this before, with a guy or with anyone, and Tony pulls on his bottom lip with his teeth, just whispers, “You’re so adorable.”

            They don’t bother with a condom, because they know Steve’s clean, and it doesn’t matter how many people don’t trust Tony, Steve _does_.

            They leave almost all of their clothes on, while Tony rocks up and down against Steve’s cock, breathing heavily against his lips and gripping his t-shirt tightly. Steve holds onto Tony’s hips tightly, leaving finger-shaped bruises on his skin even through his clothes, and he whispers Tony’s name under his breath again and again, a mantra that he says to himself to keep himself here, stop himself from completely falling away because he wants to remember every second, every sensation of this _wonderful—_

            He fills Tony up with a soft gasp and Tony finishes seconds after, shooting his load onto Steve’s t-shirt with a cry of his name that Steve swallows with his lips.

            They chuckle softly, smiling and looking almost bashful in their afterglow, while Steve complains about Tony ruining his shirt.

            “It’ll come right out, Capscicle, don’t worry about it.”

**4.**

            This isn’t their first fight, because _of course_ it’s not. They’re as different as they are similar, and both just as stubborn. Arguments were unavoidable.

            But it’s never been as bad as this. The force of Steve’s voice shakes the walls, the tone not dissimilar to the one he used when shouting orders in the middle of the battlefield.

            And Tony, Tony who usually fought back with a viper tongue, spewing venom and hatred and digging his fangs into Steve’s skin right where he knew it would hurt most—Tony just sits on the couch, staring down at the inhuman, grey metal floor with his hands threaded through his hair, unable to argue.

            “If you want to leave, fucking do it!” Tony finally shouts, glaring up at Steve and clenching his fists until his knuckles are white, his face red and his eyes pink and watering but he isn’t going to let Steve see him cry, goddamnit!

            Steve looks shocked, like he thought he could shout and shout and Tony would never reach his limit, never say _enough_.

            But he has, and so Steve throws his sparse possessions into a suitcase and leaves Avenger’s tower. Tony doesn’t know where he goes and he doesn’t care, but he’s never needed anyone and he _certainly_ doesn’t need Steve.

  **5.**           

            Tony _doesn’t_ need Steve, he won’t stop telling himself that.

            Steve’s gone out, searching for Bucky, unable to give up his past, and Tony’s glad he’s kicked Steve out, because _obviously_ Steve just needed an excuse to leave so he could go find what _really_ mattered to him.

            Tony sits on the couch, stares down at the newspaper article that’s open on his phone. Steve’s in Moscow, stopped to do some superheroing before he went back out to go look for his friend.

            There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Natasha whispers, “Tony, we’re needed.”

            He knows she saw the article on his phone as he closes it, and before she can ask he answers with, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

            She doesn’t ask.

**Author's Note:**

> This was weird and sad. I got bit by the Stony bug again for some reason. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! I love validation, so if you did, let me know! If not, also let me know!
> 
> Comment, kudos, say hi! My name on tumblr is bloodstainsblue so come say hi there!
> 
> <3


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